But then his mind went back to the chronicles he had seen and read while he had been in Cyprus and other countries while he was still a member of the Order of the Temple. There were many examples there of women prepared to take up weapons, from women who killed and threatened to take control of lands they wanted, to others who were more subtle and devious in their approach. Alice of Antioch was one, Constance another. Both had tried to take over lands and rule them alone. It was possible that Angelina was struck from the same mould.
“I have no idea, Simon,” he said heavily. “All I know is that it seems that there is some reason to doubt whether the boy Greencliff was truly responsible for the murders. And we need to hear from the lady herself why it was that she went to Agatha Kyteler’s house. I don’t know.”
They had almost arrived at the cottage now, and Simon nodded thoughtfully as they made their way to the door, through the flocks of chickens that scrabbled at the dirt for any food missed by their sisters. Dismounting, he lashed his reins to a tree and banged once more on the front door. This time there was only a short pause before it was opened to show Sarah Cottey, whose eyebrows rose at the sight of her guests.
“Sarah,” Simon said, “we have come to ask you about the day you went to the witch’s house again, and about Harold Greencliff.” To his horror, she immediately burst into tears.
Baldwin was still on his horse, but swung down and walked over to join them with a grimace of sympathy twisting his mouth. Throwing a disdainful sneer at Simon, who stood staring at him with frank amazement at the response to his words, the knight barged past, took the girl by the shoulder and gently led her indoors.
“Come on, Sarah. Don’t worry, we know most of it already. He helped her to a bench at the table and sat before her, holding her eyes with his, and she began to calm, sniffling. Eventually, rubbing at her nose and drawing in gulps of air, she glanced up at Simon, then began to weep again.
“Come now, child,” Baldwin said. “We must know what really happened. Otherwise, you know what will happen, don’t you? Harold must die. He has admitted both killings. He has confessed to them both. You can’t believe he killed them. Tell us the truth.”
Looking up, she found herself gazing into the knight’s dark eyes. Under that solid stare she found herself relaxing, as if she was becoming entranced by their deep brown depths. “He can’t have meant it. None of it.”
“Meant what, Sarah?” the knight asked softly.
“What he promised me,” she said, her eyes filling again with tears, one huge drop forming in her right eye and slowly descending like a feather dropping in a clear air. “He promised me he would marry me as soon as he could.”
“When did he promise, Sarah?”
“Months ago. He said he loved me, that he wanted to live with me for ever. But he was lying. I heard about him and that French cow, and how they were carrying on…‘
“Where did you hear that?”
“At the inn. They were all talking about it up there. But when I asked him about it, he said it was untrue! He said it was all lies, that he’d never seen her, there was nothing in it. He said he still wanted me?”
Baldwin looked at her steadily as the tears fell in a constant drizzle, but he could almost feel her pain and it was only with an effort that he stopped himself from touching her to try to offer some comfort. “What happened to make you doubt him? Why did you think he was untrue to you?”
“Because he was there! He was at the road to that woman’s house. I didn’t realise at the time, I couldn’t really see…‘
“Did you see the woman in the trees? Did you see Mrs. Trevellyn?” Baldwin interrupted quickly, and saw with relief that he had brought her back to her story again.
“Her? Oh, yes, I saw her! She was there in the trees, hiding a little back from the lane, dressed so clean and expensive, like a lady, she was. But she was still there for the same reason…” She broke off suddenly, and her eyes glanced away.
“I think we know why she was there, Sarah,” said Baldwin. “You had gone there for the same reason before, hadn’t you?”
Her head came up once more and she looked him full in the face with a kind of pride as she said, “Yes.”
“Why did you think she was there at the time? Is that what you thought immediately, or did you think she was there for some other reason at first?”
“I…‘ Her eyes lost their focus with the effort of recollection. ”I didn’t think anything at the time. I think it was just like seeing anyone. No, it was later, when I came to the lane and saw her horse there that I knew.“
“What do you mean? Why?”
“I never saw Harold, he had dropped back into the trees, but he must have been there holding the horse.”
“Why do you say that? Surely it could have been anyone there holding her horse – she might have brought an hostler to do that. Why do you think it was Harold?”
There was withering scorn in her eyes as she sneered at him. “Why? Because I may not have seen Harry at the time, but when I spoke to Jennie later, she admitted she saw him there, before he ducked back into the trees. He hid when he saw me. I’m not surprised he wanted to stay hidden from me.”
Leaning back, Baldwin gazed at her with doubt. “So Harry Greencliff was definitely there – but as far as you could see, he was alone? You saw no one with him?”
“That’s right. She must have been in the trees on the way to see Agatha by then. There was only one reason for him to be there – he was there to give her comfort after she had been to see Agatha. And then she killed the poor old woman.”
“ What?“ It was almost explosive the way in which the word forced itself from his lips.
“Well, of course she did. Just like she killed her husband. And with both killings, she tried to blame other people!”
“But why?”
“Why?” Again he could see the disdain in her eyes. “Because when the witch knew she was pregnant, Mrs. Trevellyn had to kill her so that her secret was kept. Then she killed her husband too.”
“Wait!” Baldwin held up a hand and sighed. This was becoming impossible, the suggestions and allegations were flying around too quickly for him to be able to think them through. “Why would Mrs. Trevellyn have killed the old woman? Surely she could rely on her to keep the thing quiet?”
“Oh, I don’t think so. How could she trust the poor old dear to keep her mouth shut? It’s one thing for me, an unimportant woman, unmarried, I knew I could trust her. But her? Angelina Trevellyn? She had lots to lose.” Her head tilted and she looked as if she was giving the matter judicious consideration. “I imagine she never thought of killing her husband, but then she realised how easy it was after killing old Agatha, and then I suppose the next time her husband tried to threaten her, it seemed like the best thing to do.”
Baldwin threw a glance of desperation at his friend, and Simon leaned forward. “Sarah, when you knew Harold, did he always carry a dagger?”
“Yes, of course!”
“What was it like?”
“Just an ordinary ballock dagger. A thin blade with one sharp side. The handle was wooden, I think, and the sheath made of thick leather.”
“And he always kept it with him?”
“Yes. Of course he did.”
“So it comes to this, then,” said Simon at last as they rode back to Furnshill Manor in the creeping darkness of the twilight. “We know that Mrs. Trevellyn was there. We think she was obtaining the same kind of medicine as Sarah, and she had some sort of reason to keep the witch quiet.”